


Knitting Circle

by JoJo



Category: The Magnificent Seven
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoJo/pseuds/JoJo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All they can do is sit around and wait for the bones to knit.  But Ezra never makes things simple, and Vin's got something on his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

(1)

Through a fog of smoke, Vin kept watch on the card-table.

He was pretending not to. Ezra detested being, as he'd assume, spied upon. However much Vin might claim he was merely watching his back, like he watched all their backs, Ezra would only get insecure about it. And an insecure Ezra could be mean as the Devil.

Right now, Ezra had a cigar clamped between his teeth and the shot glass at his elbow was mostly untouched. These were signs that he was having a good afternoon. He had that damn face on that proclaimed he'd cheat his own grandmother if he thought he could get away with it. Nevertheless, the sparkle in his eye also told Vin he was so far ahead of this game he wasn't even considering a hustle. The other players may as well cut their losses and saddle up. Vin had already checked them out, of course. Didn't think any of them posed a threat. When Ezra pocketed his winnings, they just grumbled to each other. For all his fancy ways, nothing suggested the sharply-tailored man only packed his irons for show.

At a few minutes before five o'clock, Vin saw Ezra consult his fob-watch. Remarkably, it seemed he'd remembered he was due to make a reconnaissance ride with Josiah over to the homesteads south of town which had been troubled by thieves lately. When Ezra scraped back his chair, rose smoothly to his feet and bid the stunned company good afternoon with a saucy flourish of one ruffled wrist, Vin got a rush of something in his midriff. Near enough took his breath away. He knew the showy departure should make him frown. Should make him shake his head in, at best, amused affection and, at worst, total irritation. But it didn't. It made him feel thirteen, and like the prettiest girl had just sashayed past him as he sat on the gate opposite the school he didn't attend.

"So it was a twelve-guage? You reckon? Vin, you reckon?"

Vin dragged his gaze from the small cloud of cigar-smoke that hung over the batwings. JD was looking at him, impatient.

"What do I reckon about what?"

"The shotgun Baxter used?"

Vin shrugged vaguely and Chris's eyebrows went up.

Buck tutted. "Hell, JD, don't you notice nothin'? Less kickback, less muzzle flash. Warn't no twelve-guage." He leaned his elbow on the table, narrowed his eyes at Vin. "We keeping you from something important?"

"Keepin' me?"

"Swear you haven't listened to a word we bin sayin'."

"I need to go check on Ezra," Vin said doggedly, keeping his eyes on his beer. "Make sure he does what he oughta."

Buck thumped the table. "Go get 'im, hoss!"

It was Buck's beery laugh that was still audible above everything else as Vin stepped out on to the boardwalk. Ezra was already out of sight, which was surprising. Didn't usually sprint. Usually ambled.

A discarded cigar butt was still glowing on the ground outside the livery doors. Vin stepped on it and pushed his way inside. Ezra had saddled his horse and had his back to the doors. When Vin entered, he turned around, hand poised in the act of tightening the cinch.

"Checkin' up on me?"

"Just passing."

Ezra gave him the glimmer of a smile. A hard little smile. Hard to read, anyhow. But then hell, most of Ezra was hard to read, as impossible sometimes as if he'd been an actual book, with actual words printed on its fine pages. Vin was damned if he wasn't determined to learn somehow though.

"You're keen. Avoidin' one of ya marks?"

"I don't need to avoid them. I won, they lost. No more to be said."

"Well all right."

"Believe me, I intend to carry out the minimum necessary activity."

_Believe me._

It was one of Ezra's favorite phrases. Vin figured he used it so much cause he never much expected anyone to.

"I do believe you, Ezra."

Vin laid the irony on thick as cream and could see Ezra liked the sport.

"Once around the Baxters' farm, once around the Mulligans', back between the sheets by sundown." And Ezra smiled again, this one with a little less edge.

Vin swallowed.

"Remember to check upstairs at the Mulligans'."

"It's empty."

"We need to know if anyone's bin poking about."

Ezra's eyes glimmered. "Yes, suh."

Vin shifted his feet.

"You know, Ezra -"

"Yes?"

"I bin meanin' to say -"

"Hm?" Ezra frowned at him, stood still. "Well spit it out, Mr Tanner. What have you been meaning to say?"

Vin's heart was beginning to canter. While his mouth was dry, his hands were clammy. Ezra was looking at him in a strange way. Expectant, almost.

"Well I think that ... I kinda thought that ... damn it, Ezra, what you lookin' at me like that for?"

Ezra dropped his hand to the leading rein of his horse, took hold of it and began to move forward, tugging the animal with him. As they passed Vin, he gave him that small glimmer of a smile again. The one that made Vin feel even more illiterate than he already was. Ezra smelt like smoke and pine trees in the breeze.

"I look forward to hearing your thoughts when they are coherent, Mr Tanner. Perhaps now is not the appropriate time? Preacher's waiting on me."

He headed for the doors and out into the street. Vin stood where he was for a moment, staring at the floor, feeling snubbed. Then he followed, saw Ezra swing himself into the saddle.

"Well, watch yer back anyhow," he said, gruffly embarrassed.

Ezra dimpled a bemused smile, tipped his hat and rode away.

\-----

The rest of the seven had given up trying to fathom how Chris Larabee fashioned his working partnerships. The man insisted none of them ride patrol alone unless there was nothing for it. But he wouldn't worry about who was best suited to who, or if one was having a falling out with another. Nothing like that. JD couldn't count on being sent out with Buck, nor Josiah with Nathan, and that was an end to it. And, if someone was having a hard time preventing themselves from throttling Ezra with their bare hands, then that was just too bad. Wouldn't stop Chris pairing them up.

"Good afternoon," Josiah said to Ezra when he arrived at the church. "You're not going to be complaining every step of the way now are you? Like last time?"

Ezra squinted at him as if trying to evaluate what kind of a mood the preacher was in.

"Not unless I can find something to complain about."

"Brother, you always find something to complain about."

Ezra considered. "Well, maybe that's because there always is something to complain about."

Josiah considered too. "It's a possibility. Shall we go?"

"Lead on."

Josiah and Ezra were not natural partners. They amused one another mightily on good days, could spar and trade quotations for hours at a time if the mood took them. But there was often a wariness in Ezra's dealings with the preacher, and Josiah could lose his temper with the gambling man quicker than you could say knife.

There was a pattern. Josiah's musings on sin and redemption would get under Ezra's skin, and Ezra's studied lack of self-analysis would bother Josiah into a rage. Ezra didn't want to be saved, he certainly didn't want to be saved by Josiah, and this he made plain. For his part, Josiah was frustrated that what he searched for in Ezra was so seldom seen. That precious and honorable something only found in the best of men. It made fleeting appearances and then was gone like a thief in the night. Josiah wouldn't give up trying to tease it out, though, and that made Ezra worse than ever.

They set off amicably enough. Did a tour of the Baxters' farm first. It was a bustling little concern, had lost three horses to the rustlers that had descended, suffered a run of cut fences and fish carcasses mysteriously dumped in the well.

All seemed quiet today. No-one had been seen and John Baxter, head of the family, hadn't been obliged to discharge his twenty caliber weapon.

Out at the Mulligans', things were even quieter. The family had left after the initial attack, taken their valuables and moved across the territory to settle in with Deke Mulligan's brother and his family. The house, barn and stables were left mostly empty but Deke had been clear he didn't intend to abandon them, didn't want no squatters moving in and taking up residence. He was just weighing up his options and wanted the Four Corners' lawmen to make sure his best asset remained intact.

"Seems to me a man should defend his own property if he can," Vin had stated, not impressed one iota by this lunatic state of affairs.

"Why in Heaven's name would anyone ... if some other misguided individuals will do it for nothing? Like us, for example." Ezra, of course.

"Because it's yourn."

"Yeah, come on, Ez, you're not tellin' us you wouldn't fight tooth and nail to protect your saloon from invaders ... iffen you had a saloon of course."

"Contrary to popular opinion, Mr Wilmington, I would not willingly die to defend an investment of mere bricks and mortar. Flesh and blood, perhaps. Mr Mulligan's aged father was shot at. I don't in the least begrudge the man his decision to leave."

"Seems kinda cheap to me," Vin had insisted.

But it was agreed. Larabee's men would make twice-daily forays to show there was someone willing to stand up for law and order. They hadn't met any trouble in five days.

The Mulligans' small spread seemed undisturbed. There was no evidence of any visitors, although a bullet casing had been found upstairs in the house by Vin on the second day. Nothing since then.

"I'll take the barn," Josiah told Ezra. "You see to the house."

Ezra dismounted, yawned without trying to stifle it.

"And ... Ezra?"

"Ah know. Don't forget the upstairs. I won't. Forget the upstairs."

Josiah bared his teeth in a smile. He watched Ezra wander off across the hard-packed earth towards the dingy clapboard dwelling. It was a two-storey construction, had a wide porch, needed a coat or three of paint. Josiah saw Ezra take the steps in one leap, turn the handle of the front door and push it open. When he'd gone inside, leaving the door wide, Josiah headed towards the barn and stable.

There were plenty of hoof and scuff marks on the ground, but none of them looked recent. Far as Josiah could make out, nothing looked any different to when he'd last been here yesterday morning with Chris.

He shut the barn door behind him, wandered to the stable and pushed open those doors with both hands. The light of day flowed in across the hay-strewn floor. The smell of horse and leather was strong, even though all the stalls were empty and there was no tack on the walls. Immediately inside the doors was a long shelf full of lamps. Josiah counted them, like he had yesterday morning. Attention to detail. It was something he'd picked up from many sources.

All clear. All quiet. All as it should be.

Josiah turned to tug the doors closed behind him when he heard it.

A sound that caused the hair on the back of his neck to judder to attention, sent all the saliva out of his mouth, a twist to the center of his gut.

A sound that started like wind in a canyon, grew into thunder. It was heavy waves banking against rock. Or it was something collapsing, slowly, but with unstoppable momentum. Whatever it was, it was desperately bad.

Even as he swung around, Josiah saw, with a prick of horror, a cloud of dust pouring out the open front door, a tide of wood and debris sliding towards the verandah.

"Oh my good God in Heaven ... Ezra ..."

Josiah picked up pace across the ground, reached the doorway and braced his hands to the sides to stop himself slipping on what was underfoot. A cloud obscured everything. What had been three neat rooms separated from three more neat rooms by a wooden staircase with a shiny banister, was now a cavernous space whirling with dust. Far as Josiah's shocked senses could gather, the top floor had caved in to the bottom. Everything lay in pieces, beams crushing broken furniture and shattered floorboards up-ended like giant bits of matchwood. The dust caught in his throat and eyes, almost beat him back as if it was smoke.

He moved forward regardless, shouting out Ezra's name. There was an ominous sound of shifting wood, almost like a sigh. He knew that was the mountain of debris settling itself. His feet slid again on the unstable surface.

"Ezra!"

Josiah inhaled, felt wood-dust prickle his throat, and coughed. He scrambled blindly up the side of the mountain, felt his foot go through, nearly went to his knees. He pulled aside some of the bits of plank, throwing them down behind him, still coughing.

"Ezra! You hearin' me? You all right?"

Not a movement, not a sound.

Josiah cursed, couldn't keep his position any longer and let himself slither down to solid ground.

"Lord, he'd better be alive," he said aloud. It came out less like a prayer and more like a threat. Which had always been one of Josiah's problems. "Going to get help!" he shouted over his shoulder as he crawled to his feet. "Going to get you out, Ezra. So just ... don't you do anything stupid, hear me? You hearin' me, Ezra?"

He ran from the house, sprinted for his horse even though sprinting was not something that came all that easy. Josiah was painfully aware that the sun was dipping, that night was coming on fast and that time was of the absolute essence. He knew he couldn't get back with the others before dark, but he was damn sure he needed to get back before the night got too cold.

Pressing his mount into a full-blown gallop that whipped his hat off his head, Josiah was too caught up in the possibilities teeming through his mind. His eyes were still too bothered by the dust, or not looking where they should have been looking. Whatever it was, Josiah just didn't see the hole in the ground.

When he felt his horse stumble, he dug in his knees, clutching for balance. Not fast enough. Josiah felt the reins jerk from his hands and tumbled sideways, falling out of the stirrups and hitting the ground with a crunch. He heard his horse whinny in pain as the air rushed from his lungs.

Then he was out.

And out he stayed.

\-----

"What time you say they went?"

Buck, wearied by Vin's skittish wanderings about town, followed him out of the jail and down the steps. Didn't know what the problem was, but knew he didn't like a skittish tracker.

"Just after five. Been gone too long."

"And you're sure they ain't slipped back into town without us seein'?"

"Why in hell would they do that? And yes I'm sure. Horses not here, church empty, room's empty. They ain't been seen, Buck."

"You told Chris?"

Vin turned at that, regarded Buck through the shadows. "Nope."

"Where in hell could they have got to? Ain't nowhere to have fun between here and there."

"That's why I'm goin' out to look. Maybe they met some trouble."

"Well you ain't goin' alone in the dark."

"All right then."

"Trouble, boys?" A new voice had joined them. Chris Larabee could creep up on a man shrouded in his dark clothes, and he often did. Now he materialized from the gloom of the street outside the Clarion office and there was no escaping the suspicion in his voice.

"Josiah 'n Ezra ain't back," Vin said unwillingly. "Buck and me thought we'd go check up they ain't fallen into trouble."

Chris huffed a laugh. "Trouble? I can't imagine it. How long?"

"Reckon we shoulda seen'em three hours ago."

Chris chewed his cheek. "Worried?"

Vin over-compensated. "Hell, no," he said blithely. "But now it's dark, well ... the rule is ..."

"I know what the goddamn rule is, Vin. I wrote the rule." Chris pushed his hat back, swiped at his bangs. "Nathan's not back from the village until tomorrow. We got a lively crowd in the saloon." He looked up the street seeming kind of pissed. Having more than one problem at a time wasn't at all what he'd signed up for. "You take JD. I'll stay."

Buck jumped down the steps, set off at a lope.

Chris regarded Vin gravely.

"What's got you so fired up?"

Vin rubbed at the stubble on his chin with three fingers. "Ezra."

Chris's expression didn't change. He just shifted his weight from one foot to another, didn't drop his eyes. Vin glared at him, more than a little defiant.

"Ezra," Vin repeated. "You know it, Chris."

Chris sucked his teeth. "Reckon." He held Vin's eyes, gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "So that's the truth then, is it?" His head wagged again. "Goddamnit, Vin. Jist as well I like you." He motioned towards out of town, impatient all of a sudden. "Go on, get the hell out of here. Go bring 'em back."

Vin paused. He still looked defiant. "You -?"

Chris's voice was low, held not a hint of warmth. "I ain't sayin' nothin' to nobody."

"Thanks."

"Don't goddamn thank me, Vin. Keepin' it all together is hard enough without you and Ezra complicatin' things. I ain't here to make things easier on you. You'll have to carry this for yourselves."

Vin gave a sour laugh. "Hell, Ezra doesn't know nothin' about it. There's nothin' to carry."

"Jesus."

"Just so long as you ain't gonna run us out of town."

"Might think about it," Chris said. Seemed like he'd dredged a nugget of humor from somewhere, though Vin felt wary of it. "Go on, get goin'. I don't want to talk about this right now. I want to know what's happened to those two."

"I'm gone," Vin said, and he was.

Chris turned back towards the Saloon.

Shit.

_Vin and Ezra?_

Surely that wasn't going to end well.

\-----

Like Josiah and Ezra before them, Vin and the others took the Baxters' farm first. Found nothing there and the family a little annoyed at all the attention they were receiving. That irritated Buck who never had much patience when he was worried. Vin kept a lid on it and they headed out into the dark towards the Mulligans.

Reached there in another hour and saw one horse still tethered to a fence.

"That's Ezra's," Vin said at once.

"Where in the tarnation's Josiah then?"

They all dismounted, looked around them. JD called Ezra's name and silence answered.

"Must been workin'" JD swept Ezra's purple jacket off the ground under the fence. "If he took this off."

The Mulligans' stable door stood open and they approached it three abreast. Just inside the doorway they knew, as Josiah had, that there was a long, low shelf filled with lamps. Vin snagged one and patted through his pockets until he found a light.

"Ezra?" Buck asked the darkened interior, and then a little glow sprang up and washed the immediate area in pale yellow.

Nothing. The stable was as empty as they would have expected. There was no sign that anyone had been there that shouldn't, just some footprints in the sand and sawdust that Vin thought were Josiah's.

"Well he's here somewhere," JD stated. "Let's try the house."

Coming up the steps to the front door, Vin got his first prickle.

Something wasn't right.

At all.

Loose flooring and shards of wood crunched under their feet. The door swung inwards and Vin took a step forward, leading with the lamp, JD and Buck close on his heels. Then he stopped.

"What the hell?"

Buck said it over his shoulder.

In front of them should have been a room with stairs at one side leading up to the second floor. They were expecting it to look like it had done a few days ago. Empty of most furniture, clean and swept. A room.

There was no room.

Instead, there was a huge pile of debris, the stairs were gone and a gaping hole filled the space where once there had been the supporting beams of the floor above. There was heavy dust in the air and a heavy silence.

"Holy crapshoot," JD murmured as Vin swung the lamp up towards what had been the ceiling, and then down again. "D'ya think -?"

Buck shouldered past him, moved forward with Vin towards the mountainous pile of broken wood.

"Ezra? You in there?" he shouted, taking a step up on to a criss-cross of splintered planks.

"Careful, Bucklin, this shit ain't stable." Vin swung the light towards the top of the mountain.

"Ezra!"

"Get the light up here, Vin, I'm tryin' to see ..." Buck had ignored Vin's warning and was negotiating a cautious way up the lower slopes, one wobbling step at a time. Vin passed him up the lamp, put out a hand to stop JD following.

Buck crouched down at a spot where there seemed to be some space between all the rubbish, held the lamp close to the opening and peered in. "Ez, you in there?"

There was a slight shifting sound. At first Vin thought that something had given under Buck's feet. Then Buck whistled low.

"Hell, Ezra ... what you ... what you doin' down there?" Buck clearly didn't know what the hell else to say.

Vin couldn't hear a reply, but Buck snorted a laugh of some sort. "And the same to you too, old pard ... yeah, I can see. What in hell happened? ... Well heck, if you're going to be like that about it we might just leave you there." Buck turned and half grinned at Vin, held up a hand to suggest that they needn't be panicked, Ezra was fit enough to be bad-tempered. The action of turning made him nearly lose his footing.

"What we got?" Vin called up.

"Oh he's in a fix all right," Buck said. "I can just about get a hand to him maybe." He turned back, more carefully this time. "Ezra, can you move?"

Still Vin couldn't hear any reply but Buck shook his head down at them. "Hold on, we'll get to ya."

Buck turned gingerly, began to step a way back down to the floor.

"Buck?"

Buck handed Vin the lamp, rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "He's talkin' ... but kinda quiet. Whole heap'a crap on top of him. We can move some but we'll need JD to get back to town, fetch a wagon and rope."

"I'm on it," JD said, backing out of the door. They heard him jump down the steps, land with a thump, and then his pounding feet disappearing into the quiet.

"Heck knows how this happened," Buck said, but Vin was intent on something else, already bent down further round the pile of debris, touching down on different spots with his free hand.

"Weren't no accident."

"What?"

"This beam here's been sawed through, Buck. Teeth-marks, clean edge right here. It didn't just fall down by chance. Someone set this up. Did one hell of a job on it, too. This took time and plannin'." He looked around, disbelieving. "And where the hell is Josiah?"

"God damnit." Buck got hold of the end of one of the planks, gave it a tug, which dislodged the end of another one.

"Easy, Buck. Don't want to make things worse."

Vin stood up, followed the route up the side of the mountain that Buck had taken, balanced on the spot where Buck had been able to bend and put the lamp carefully down on a spar of wood. He took a deep breath, peered forward into the dusty dark below, heart hammering on his ribs.

"Hey."

Ezra's head and one shoulder were visible in a pale circle of light. Vin stared, feeling his composure draining away, a spike of fear lancing through his midsection. Ezra was a strangely-illuminated display, an incongruous island of color in a sea of black. The warm brown of his hair was shot through with glints of red and gold, the brocade on his vest shone bright as jewels. He moved his neck slightly at the sound of the voice.

"Up here, Ezra. It's me."

The open eyes were murky, but blinked in recognition. A cross-section of planks were pinning one arm to Ezra's chest. The other arm was free, and Vin could see his hand was clamped to a sharp end of shattered floorboard, as if he were trying to push it off. From the waist down he was completely trapped by the four heaviest beams which seemed to have fallen on him after he hit the ground. They looked solid and immovable.

Vin licked his lips.

"Reckon anythin's broke?"

A short silence. "Mah neck. Mah back. Mah god damn _legs_."

A shaky smile tugged at the corner of Vin's mouth. He knew there was truth in there somewhere but the exaggeration told him Ezra's spirit was more or less intact. "We sent JD back to town for a wagon, some rope to get this house offa you. So you just ... stay where you are."

A tired and sarcastic laugh, slightly wheezy. "Do keep the jokes coming, it's such a help."

Ezra gave the wood a half-hearted shove with his hand. Vin could see blood on his wrist.

"Damnit, Ez, you bleedin' anywhere else?"

"I really ... couldn't say."

""Kay. Buck'n'me, we're gonna work our way through to you. We gotta be careful, don't want to cause a landslide. This mess is kinda like Jackstraws, ya know? Only bigger."

A muttered observation.

"I'll bet you did."

Vin could hear the clatter of Ezra's teeth.

"We're comin', fast as we can. But you gotta stay wide awake, you hear me? You hear me, Ezra? Go on now, tell me what happened to Josiah."

"Ss ... table."

"Ain't there no more. And he dint come back to town."

Ezra sounded fretful. "Doesn't seem right ... at all."

"We'll get to Josiah, don't you worry. One heap of trouble at a time, huh?"

Buck had joined him, with a second lamp. They shifted a few pieces of timber so they could set them down in the best place to help. Then, cautiously, they began to move some of the debris, throwing it down the side of the mountain to the floor where it landed with a gruesome echo that set their teeth on edge.

They kept talking, asking questions. Received more or less grumpy answers in response.

Vin could feel a chilly night breeze blowing in from the desert.

"All that firewood keepin' you warm? You still awake in there?"

But it seemed that Ezra had nothing more to say.


	2. Chapter 2

(2)

Chris sat in a corner of the saloon, and cursed.

He had a crick in his neck from the effort of expelling two heavy-footed cowpokes who'd been amusing themselves trying to climb over the bar. Didn't know if they'd made it to their horses or if they were still slumped wetly by the side of a water-trough in the street. Either way, they weren't going to cause any more trouble tonight, but some of their buddies looked more determined.

No shots had been fired yet, but Chris wasn't sure that would last.

He wasn't enjoying this evening.

Could have stood Vin backing him up - could always stand that - but drunken ranch-workers were just nickel and dime work. Didn't bother him. It was just that he sure as hell hated the completely unrelated anxiety that sidled right up and jabbed him in the solar plexus.

Two more of the addled group were fixing to leave the saloon now. They had a table over before they got out the batwings. Were shouting and weaving, just the types to shoot at the moon. Chris drank his whisky, felt it warm and burn him. Then he got up and trailed them outside, exchanging a look with Ollie Finton, flushed and harassed at the beer pump.

Seemed like an age he stood out on the boardwalk, watching them prod one another along the street. They pitched up against their compatriots after a while, stood around the water-trough swaying and hooting with laughter. After a while one of them staggered off round the corner. God knows what he was depositing in the quiet dark of the trees between the Bank and the Livery. Chris flexed his hands, tightened them into fists, flexed them again. Felt his solitude a touch more keenly.

Where the hell were they all?

The four drunken cowpokes had got themselves in the saddle somehow, and passed him on their meandering way out of town, all the horses at a sedate walk. Chris acknowledged them with a slight downturn of the lips. Then his attention was caught by movement coming into town from the opposite direction.

Chris stepped down off the boardwalk, cowpokes instantly forgotten.

There was a horse limping past the church. And a man on foot walking slowly alongside. Even in the dark Chris could see the man was hatless, bundled in a serape, had a bandana tied around his head.

_Josiah?_

Chris began to stride out. It was Josiah all right. Before he reached him, the preacher had slowed to a halt and was leaning on the sweating side of his horse.

"Josiah? You hurt?"

Josiah looked thoughtfully at him, scratched his head under the bandana. "Horse's lame," he said. "Need to get help to the Mulligans." His tone suggested that Chris should be sharp enough to know exactly what he was talking about.

"God damnit, Josiah. What's goin' on?"

"Lord help me, I've no idea. Ezra fell through the floor."

Chris squinted at the bandana, confused by that. "Cracked your head but good, huh?"

Josiah waved him away. "I did. But Ezra still fell through the floor. We need to get him some help, he'll be gettin' cold."

"Git on and patch yourself up."

Josiah shook his head slowly. His voice was patient. "No, need a fresh horse. I'm goin' back."

Josiah sounded wayward, but he was standing strong. His eyes in the light of the night-fire outside the stagecoach office seemed focused. He began to encourage the limping animal after him towards the Livery.

"You sure you can ride?" Chris asked after him but was ignored. He was about to ask another question when his attention was caught once again by someone approaching town. This time it was someone riding in full-tilt, someone who recognized him immediately and shouted out his name.

_JD._

The crick in Chris's neck began to ache again.

_Shit. Now what?_

"Bin an accident!" JD shouted out before he got to them.

"What kind of an accident?" Chris shouted back.

Josiah stopped in his tracks, turned back. "I told you. Ezra fell through the floor."

The crick moved to Chris's shoulders.

Within twenty minutes they had an open wagon hitched up and Josiah insisted he was good to take the reins. JD raided Nathan's for everything he thought might be useful - bandaging, dressings, a big jar of moist gauze, a bottle of the eucalyptus mixture Nathan liked, iodine, blankets. Piled it all in a box at the back of the wagon, along with a coil of thick rope, filled the barrel on the side with as much water as it would take and tossed a big kettle on top.

"Laudanum?"

Nathan didn't always have laudanum and if he did it was usually locked up.

"Couldn't find any."

Chris grimaced. "Let's hope it's not the one damn thing we really need."

He glanced back at the saloon as he mounted, gee'd up his horse after JD and the wagon.

Town would have to goddamn look after itself for a while.

\-----

"Tell me."

In the half-light of approaching dawn, Chris couldn't clearly make out Vin's expression. All he had to go on was the shape of his shoulders, the crackle of tension and anxiety in the air.

They'd arrived at the Mulligans, found Vin pacing under a tree, no sign of Buck. Josiah brought the wagon in close to the house, jumped down and disappeared inside.

"It shouldn't've happened," Vin said, looking up crookedly at Chris as he dismounted. "Damn place was solid two days ago."

"Sabotage?"

Chris had been thinking about it all the way from town. Without waiting for a reply, he began towards the porch.

"A whole floor?" he said, incredulous. "Just fell through?"

"Beams sawed off. Ezra didn't have a chance."

Coming through the doorway into the gutted building, Chris made for the light of several lamps set up precariously on what looked like the rim of a small volcano. Buck was wedged on the summit. Josiah was now standing at the bottom, one hand on his head like he was shocked into immobility by seeing the mess all over again and remembering what was underneath.

Chris had to maneuver a careful way across the split beams and planks that littered what had been a pristine, flat foundation. As he got close, his eyes strayed upwards to the gaping hole overhead where the floor of the upstairs room had been. Where he himself had stood only yesterday.

He climbed a wary route upwards, lowered to his haunches, looking first at Buck, and then down.

"Shit, Ezra."

"Need to shift all this goddamn timber, Chris. Get it the hell offa him."

"How bad's he hurt?"

"Hard to tell." Buck had one hand thrust down into the pile of debris, resting on Ezra's collarbone. "Legs're under all the heavy stuff. He's breathin' but it don't sound good. Was being a goddamn smart-mouth when we got here." Buck's hand tightened on the shimmering cloth under his fingers. "He ain't said nothin' in a while."

"Shit, Ezra," Chris said again.

\-----

A wintry morning settled over the Mulligan farm, the light cool and pale.

It took another hour to dismantle the mountain without the sides falling in, yet one more Ezra could ill afford. Every touch against the wood seemed precarious, had them flinching and tensing with the possibility of another collapse.

"I know we gotta move fast," Chris kept saying. "But we gotta move slow, too." He looked warningly at Vin. "No point crushin' him to death bein' foolish."

When they finally had enough of a space to work with, they roped the beams. Needed horsepower to lever them up, and all Chris's skill to keep the motion steady enough that nothing else got dislodged.

Ezra was finally revealed, sprawled over the remains of an indeterminate item of wooden furniture. He'd curled his freed arm across his belly and was trying to reach down to his knees with the other one. Now they could finally get at him they were almost frozen with reluctance to touch.

"Keep still," Chris ordered, eyes locked on the unnatural tangle of limbs.

"We maybe shouldn't move him," JD suggested fearfully.

"We can't leave him there, JD." Buck was breathless and raspy. "He's all busted up, we gotta fix him."

"Can't we fix him first and then move him?"

"There's no room, kid. And I don't trust the rest of this bitchin' place not to fall down any second. No, we gotta get him out and fix him."

"Sure wish Nathan was here."

"So do I, kid, so do I. Now are ya ready to do this? 'Siah, you ready?"

Somehow, between them, they fished Ezra out of the nest of splintered planks, first sliding, then lifting him across the shattered floor. As he left the ground, he groaned once but that was all. Outside, when they laid him gently on a tarpaulin, he was wide awake, his brow lined in silent reproach.

"Sorry for that, Ezra, needed you outa there." Chris wasn't entirely surprised that his apology was met with a stare, glazed and stony.

They unbuttoned the vest, pulled aside the ends of grimy shirt. Vin pressed in gently with his thumbs, like it was pie-crust. "Yep, a rib. Maybe two. Need to wrap him up, keep him warm."

"Sonofabitch," Ezra croaked several times while they worked. It didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular. Vin took a blanket off Josiah and laid it over him when they were done. Ezra didn't speak anymore. He was concentrating on breathing and it sounded all wrong. He looked all wrong, all over. Vin felt a mounting panic that he didn't know how to control. Ezra was staring right up at him, right into his eyes like he was waiting for Vin to say the right thing, that there was nothing and nobody else that could help him.

God Almighty. What a time. What a time for Ezra to be looking at him like that.

"Easy, Ez, we'll get you fixed up," Vin said, his voice neutral, although he slid his fingers round the undamaged forearm. Would've taken Ezra's hand if they'd been alone.

"Look at his legs." There was a hitch in JD's voice. "Hell, Chris, look at his legs. They're bust. Aren't they?"

Chris had a hand on Ezra's shoulder, eyes tracking up and down. There were lacerations on the arm that had been trapped and Ezra held the bloody limb clutched around his hastily-bandaged ribs. That didn't make Chris nearly as jittery as the strange zig-zag of Ezra's legs. "Damn." He squeezed the shoulder. "Reckon both are bust." He let go, rose to his feet and moved away a little. Josiah was at his side.

"We could try settin' 'em," he rumbled.

"You think?"

"I don't know 'bout that." Buck joined them, didn't sound pleased. "Be too hard on him."

"We need to do somethin', Buck."

"Not that."

"You gotta better damn idea?"

"Stop jawin and decide," Vin said loudly from the ground, the frustration and fear he felt manifesting itself in a tightening of fingers on Ezra's arm. Ezra groaned, but real quiet.

Chris looked at them and then back at Buck. "We have to get him back to town and we have to set the bones. It's gonna be hell for him whatever we do, least this way we'll have more chance to save his legs."

"I ain't no bonesetter," Buck growled. "I say we keep 'm quiet here and wait on Nathan."

"Damnit, Buck, he's already freezin' cold and he ain't breathin' easy."

"May do more harm than good, Chris, that's all I'm sayin'."

Chris cast a harried look over at Vin, whose expression just said that he wanted a decision, didn't care one way or another which it was. He let his eyes drop to Ezra, wheezing on the ground.

Damnit, why the hell had he got mixed up in all this? Mixed up in all this being responsible for the lives of others? And bitchin' well giving a shit. That had to be the worst of it. He loped back, went down on his haunches again, pressed a hand to the side of Ezra's face and could feel his jaw trembling.

"Listen up. We're gonna splint your pins, me and Josiah, just enough to get you home. Now don't you look at me like that, I know we ain't experts, but we'll do our best." He winced at the thought. "Ain't gonna be fun, Ezra. I know it. We got nothin' to take the edge off and it's gonna be a bitch of a thing. Can you handle it?"

Ezra spoke at last, through gritted teeth. "No."

Chris felt a stab of bitter amusement. Honesty wasn't what he normally admired in the man. Buck had dropped down on the other side.

"Now, hoss, I'm sorry. I just ain't up to shiftin' ya bones about. But I'll drive the wagon, real careful - like you was four barrels of dynamite. Be the smoothest ride you ever had."

Ezra just said, "No," again, a little more decidedly this time, and that made Buck grin faintly.

"All right then." He met Chris's eyes. "I just hope you know what the fuck you're doin'." He stood up, moved away towards JD. "Take my horse, kid. And I'd get outa earshot if I were you."

Josiah had Ezra's flask in his hand. He unscrewed the lid, handed it to Vin. "Reckon he'll need it all."

Vin lifted Ezra's head, pressed the flask to his lips. "Here. Take this down."

But Ezra couldn't take much, though he tried. The muscles in his throat wouldn't cooperate, his teeth wouldn't unlock. Vin went on tipping, went on muttering, "Come on, come on now, Ez, take it," and a goodly portion of the whisky ended up on Ezra's collar and Vin's fingers.

Vin handed the flask back to Josiah in silence.

"None of this is going to be simple," was all Josiah said, tucking the flask into his pocket. He tapped Ezra's face lightly. "Need somethin' to bite down on, son?"

Ezra puffed in derision. Or perhaps it was fear.

"Well, as you like. You better be ready for this, Ezra, 'cause Lord knows I'm not." Josiah closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again. "Chris?"

Chris nodded, and Josiah stroked Ezra's cheek once with the backs of his fingers.

"You cuss us to Perdition and worse then, much as you like. Don't keep it in, son, won't help. Lord's got his fingers in his ears, and we can take it. Ain't that so, Chris?"

Chris nodded grimly. "If you ain't screamin blue murder in a minute or two, Ezra, then we'll know we ain't doin' it right."

"Get on with it," Vin growled. "He can't make you feel better, so just damn well hurry."

Midway through the process, Chris thought that Buck was maybe right after all. That maybe this was about the stupidest, not to mention cruelest, thing he'd ever done in his life. He and Josiah weren't up to it. They didn't know whether to be firm or gentle, and despite what they were inflicting on him, Ezra just wouldn't pass out. Damn man was inhuman, hanging on for no reason Chris could fathom, a repeated _stopstopstopstop_ coming from him in a strangled voice none of them recognized, and then _ohgodohgodohgod_, one hand either fisted into Vin's jacket or pounding against his back, the other scratching at the earth.

Too late Chris figured they should've just knocked him out cold and been done with it.

The sound of bone scraping and resisting made the gorge rise in Vin's throat. One leg looked like it had gained an extra joint. They straightened it out after a couple of tries, splinted it hard against a length of smooth wood while Vin pinned Ezra down with most of his bodyweight. The other leg wasn't so crooked, but swelling up between knee and ankle. Ezra lost his voice bellowing at them to leave his boots alone. They bound both limbs tight together, winding strips of cloth round and around until Ezra was practically mummified from the waist down.

"Damn, Ezra, you ain't still awake?" Chris muttered, hawking up bile and spitting it out behind him.

Vin gradually eased his hold. He sat up, shook some feeling back into his arms. Then he leaned over and thumbed away the tracks of wet that slid down both sides of Ezra's face, tried to get the open eyes to see him, acknowledge him.

"Breathe now," Josiah snapped, jostling his chin. "You ain't a fish. I know you can hear me. You breathe."

"He's all right. You're all right, ain't you, Ezra? Do as Josiah tells you now. Breathe easy, try and rest."

Took the five of them to pick him up, carry him to the wagon and lay him down. There were as many bedrolls and blankets as they could find, but it was going to be a tough trail. Ezra's eyes, like green glass, were shiny with shock.

\-----

Someone told him once that drowning was a peaceful way to go.

That all you had to do was relax and you would just float away.

_Lies and perfidy._

He sank under the surface but it wasn't peaceful at all. It was an unrelenting hell, screaming in his ears and breaking up his body, bone by snapping bone.

"We're takin' you home, Ezra. Takin' you home."

Ezra was not sure who spoke those words. Josiah maybe. Or Chris. Something about the rhythm and cadence was partially soothing but then there was a jolt and pain seared up both legs into his pelvis, through his chest, made his whole skeleton vibrate, made him lift his head up and then bang it down, hard, against the bedroll on the floor of the wagon.

_You'd shoot me if I was a horse, you bastards._

Another jolt that had Josiah blaspheming, Ezra digging his elbows into the unyielding wood until the skin rubbed raw. His own words remained unspoken while he stared up at the white sky coming and going above him, his very eyeballs cold in the freezing wind.

"What's that, Ezra? You don't need to be talkin'. Need to be holdin' still."

Ezra tried again, didn't understand any of the words that left his lips, supposed that Josiah and Chris wouldn't either. The wagon lurched a little to the side and he distinctly heard Buck shout, "Bitchin' hellfire! Goddamn horse!"

_Yes indeed. Bettah to shoot me._

He lifted his head again. A cool hand draped across his forehead, pressed down. Another slid under his skull, easing him flat. "I'm not shootin' you, Ezra. Not today."

Typical really.

That Chris Larabee of all people understood his feeble entreaty.

\-----

Having drifted in and out of a torturous doze all the way home, Ezra lay in Nathan's sickroom with his eyes at half-mast.

The rest of them were twisted up in disbelief at his illogical hold on consciousness. Figured it was something strange and unique to Ezra. Man was just too peculiar, too contrary to let it go. Something like that. Vin thought he was maybe just too scared of the other side.

The pillow he lay on was damp. Unremitting tears were blotted away gently without acknowledgment. He'd stopped murmuring for assistance from the Almighty some time ago, once Nathan had arrived and shoveled something bitter down his throat before slicing off all the wrapping and his clothes and re-splinting both legs. Now all Ezra could articulate was _nononono._

And then nothing.

"Finished," Nathan said. "It's done."

"Why won't he pass out?" Chris said, even now a little accusatory, like Ezra was yanking on his choke-chain.

"Because he's a stubborn, southern sonofabitch? Hell knows. Ain't normal." Nathan wiped Ezra's brow, the tenderness of the action not matching the stinging words. Then he wiped his own. "Gonna need some gentle handlin'" He stared over the top of Ezra at Chris, made a face, looked to the door.

Chris turned his head towards Vin who got up from the chair in the corner right away. "I'm here," he said to them. He sat on the stool by the bed, leaned over and ran his fingers right through Ezra's dusty hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "I'm here," he repeated. Chris and Nathan stared at him, at Ezra, then at one another. Then Chris motioned at the door.

Outside the room, they stood and looked over the rail at the street below. There was the animation of midday about the town but they were completely detached from it. Chris didn't speak for a while, could feel waves of exhaustion coming off the other man. Nathan had been up tending the sick for nearly two days' straight. Last thing he'd needed was to get home and find one of his compatriots gravely injured.

"Well?"

Nathan rubbed his jaw. "Could lose both legs," he said bluntly. "Breaks are bad enough. You did the best you could, but he got shook up good in the wagon, must have been bleedin' round the bones. If he don't lose one or both he may not be walkin' so good anymore. Hell, he may not be walkin' at all."

"That good, huh?"

"If this turns to shit, Chris, I might not even be able to save him. There's enough damage that any infection'd kill him outright." He dropped his head. "And I ain't even started in on his chest. I ain't a miracle worker, and Ezra's all in pieces."

"Listen," Chris said, holding up one hand as if he wanted to block it all out. "Nothin' more to do right now. You dosed him up good. Go get somethin' to eat, some rest. Vin's here."

"I see that." Nathan's voice was tinged with something Chris couldn't identify.

He pursed his lips, confused under his anxiety. "Let's not get into it. If ... if there's even anythin' to get into, let's not do it while Ezra's hurt so bad."

Nathan shrugged. "I'm not getting into nothin'." Chris watched him totter down the steps on to the street. He opened the door and went back inside. Vin was on his feet again, standing at the foot of the bed leaning on the rail. Ezra's eyes, for the first time since the wagon, were closed. His fists had uncurled, while Vin's were wrapped around the metal, knuckles showing white.

"I heard." Vin's voice was thick.

"Well then, you heard we ain't gettin' in to it."

"Mean I heard he might die."

"Course he might die." Chris was short. "Got two busted legs, a caved-in chest and Josiah and I 'bout pulled him apart. Course he might goddamn die."

"Not dyin'" a voice whispered. Ezra's head had moved slightly but his eyes were still shut.

Chris walked past Vin, plumped himself on the stool by the bed. "Nope, but you're about drivin' Nathan off his mental reservation here. Go to sleep."

A muscle jumped along the shadowy jaw-line but that was all.

Chris looked up at Vin like he wanted to punch him.

"He says he ain't dyin'. Now get your butt on this stool and make sure it stays that way."

\-----

Ezra went on being cussed.

Once he decided to sleep, he plunged deep down into a days-long slumber, hardly even bothering to open his eyes to eat or drink.

Against all Nathan's predictions, the swelling went down quickly, the tissue remained healthy, no infection set in.

Spent weeks hardly moving in the bed, complaining vociferously most of the time he was awake. Especially when they teamed up to shift him from one position to another. Heaped abuse on them when they told him they hadn't yet found out who was responsible for all of this mess. Demanded to be allowed on his feet and out of Nathan's clutches.

And when he made it step by limping step to the outside world, he took up residence in a rocking-chair outside the jail. Because he insisted on keeping his guns close it looked like he was doing something useful. The rocker was donated by Mary Travis - not that he should have been rocking, of course, but the chair was solid, had rounded arms just the right height. Teamed up rather elegantly with a footstool covered in faded velvet plush.

If they had nothing else to do, all six of them sat around him while his bones knitted.

A couple of them on the steps, two more on upright chairs. Chris always sat nearest the jail door, especially if the cells were occupied. Vin never strayed from his position at Ezra's back as if worried the rocker might up and spill its occupant at any second. Sometimes Ezra thought they were like a circle of cackling old women at the foot of the guillotine, waiting for the blade to fall. At other times he'd be so cravenly grateful for their presence that he could hardly speak.

He was knitting up good, Nathan said, though the healing bones hurt like a sonofabitch. They throbbed and ached all goddamn day long and into the night, stopped him sleeping. Any rest he got was disturbed by bolts of pain that nothing would alleviate. Vin wasn't the only one whose arms were black and blue from the grip of Ezra's fingers in the grim early hours. Nathan wouldn't give him anymore laudanum either. After the first day or two it just made him shake and that didn't do anything any good.

Ezra tried to be obliging. As he knew they were all desperate for him to sleep, occasionally he'd pretend, closing his eyes under his hat and doing a damn fine impression of a man unconscious.

Sometimes it came more easily. A few slugs of liquor, the warmth of the sun, some pages of whichever book Josiah had found for him lately. Then, if the rocking chair was set just so, and they all would stop holding their goddamn breaths and wanting it so bad, he might sink into some kind of rest for a while.

He'd fall asleep while they yammered back and forth across him, wake to find it all quiet. His book put aside, a serape folded round his shoulders.

"Ya need to eat, Ezra," a soft voice would say at his back, and he'd disagree, shift uncomfortably as reality bit once more.

Despite the pain, the legs weren't really the problem. Ezra kind of knew that, even before the crisis arrived. He could put a bit of weight on the less busted one, was able to swing himself from the rocker to the saloon and back again on a pair of crutches that Josiah made for him. There was progress there.

No, it was the constant chill that stalked him. The cold which had settled into his chest while he'd lain under the Mulligans' house all night. It had somehow wound itself through the splintered bones and wrapped about his bruised lungs so he could feel it when he breathed.

He hid it for a while, best he could. But then came the little cough.

And finally the fever.

Ezra opened his eyes one afternoon with the distinct feeling that since he'd drifted off, something had skewered him in the side. And the sun was fading.

"Come on, Ez, let's get ya up and over to the saloon. There's grub and whisky to be had. You'll be gettin' chilled out here."

Ezra glanced up at the faces of Buck and JD. They looked so damned hangdog, both of them, seemed in dire need of a witty riposte of some kind, but he couldn't think of one. He felt the weight of exhaustion on his eyelids but sensed that he was supposed to be doing something. JD held the crutches out and Buck was ready to take his arm. Ezra didn't know how he was possibly going to get up this time. He doubted his courage. It was a small and fragile thing. Always had been. Worse than ever now.

He leaned forward, felt his chest tighten, the stab at his waist. He eased the better of the two legs to the boardwalk, put his foot flat on the wood. Buck ducked under his shoulder, levered him slowly upright, wincing as Ezra swung the other leg to the ground. JD slotted one crutch under the other shoulder, stood the second next to Ezra so he could grab it.

"Git yaself movin' there, hoss." Buck's robust encouragement was designed to mask his worry, which Ezra knew well enough. They all had their ways of doing it, Vin being the least successful.

Ezra lifted his head so he could look out across the street at the saloon. He would crawl there on his goddamn elbows, dragging his legs behind him, rather than be carried or wheeled, but it always did seem such a long way away.

The evening breeze was balmy but it felt ice-cold on his face. He coughed to clear a space to speak, found the action painful enough it nearly caused him to drop one crutch.

"Been asleep too long," he said, when he could. "I fear I have become rusty."

Another cough bit down on the back of his throat. It felt as if his chest had just filled with grit. This time, the crutch did fall and he nearly went after it except Buck hadn't let go of him yet.

"Hey!" Buck yelped. "Where'd ya think ya goin?"

"Let's get him down again," JD said, commanding all of a sudden. "I don't like the look of him, Buck."

"No, nor the sound of him neither. What you doin' to us here, Ezra?"

Ezra coughed again, couldn't catch his breath.

"Where's Nathan, Buck?"

"Waitin in the saloon. Go fetch him. Ezra? Ezra, we're fetchin' Nathan. Damnit, no you can't get up again. Just sit tight."

Ezra had stopped coughing by the time Nathan came sprinting across the street with Chris and Josiah on his heels and was trying to get up by himself.

"What's goin' on?" Chris demanded, his boots clomping up the steps. "Ezra, you causin' trouble?"

"You gettin' sick, Ezra?"

Ezra tried to lift his shoulders up once more, felt someone pushing him back into the rocker, someone else pressing a palm to his forehead.

"Stay where you are."

"Gettin' sick all right. How long you been sittin' out here burnin' up like this, Ezra?"

"Dang it, he's been asleep all afternoon, Nathan. Seemed peaceful. Didn't seem anything wrong."

"No-one's blamin you, JD."

"Well don't blame him, either. We were s'posed to be lookin' out for him."

"Where's Vin anyhow?"

"Ain't seen him in a while. Want me to go git him?"

"Might be best."

Ezra's muscles jumped involuntarily under his skin, made the rocker shake. "Easy there, son," he heard. Once more he didn't know if it was Chris or Josiah who had spoken. He gazed about him in sudden confusion, feeling like he was in a crowd and all the crowd were tall, towering over him. When he drew a breath to speak he could feel parts of his chest shifting that he thought really shouldn't be shifting, heard a rattle that turned into a cough. Realized, when his ribs hummed with pain, that it was him making those god-awful sounds.

"This ain't good, we need him inside."

"Had him on his feet, Nathan, but he started coughing up his lungs like a good 'un."

"It's come on real quick."

"What's come on?" Chris's voice, sharp and harsh.

"We need him inside."

"Ezra, you gonna be able to stand again? We'll help ya. Need to get you into bed and I don't reckon you want to be carried."

Ezra flung a hand out in protest and made contact with the side of Buck's arm. Buck grabbed the flailing limb and pressed it between his own palms.

"I hear ya, hoss, but hell ... ya cold as ice So quit all ya puffin' and blowin' and help us out here."

Buck and JD moved in to repeat their maneuver from earlier.

"I'm goin' on ahead," Nathan told them. "Jis get him to me quick as you can."

"You gonna git on your crutches?" Buck asked, hanging on for dear life, dipping his head a little to get in Ezra's wandering eyeline. Ezra slumped himself over the two proffered sticks but the damn things seemed to have a life of their own all of a sudden and the street was spinning towards him at reckless speed. He was hurrying to meet it before his legs had even got going.

"Sonofabitch!" he heard Chris shout. There was a fateful clattering sound, like a whole army of crutches had just tumbled to the deck. The rocker scraped across the wooden boards and Ezra was looking at the underside of the seat and the door of the jail was upside down. He took in a breath, needing to clear his chest again but everything grayed out before he knew if he'd managed.

He woke with his head on fire. Something hot was pressing down on his sternum and it had a stench to it he could only characterize as evil. His eyes wouldn't open. He heard voices but they seemed a long way away, across the other side of a field.

"It's come on real fast."

"What's come on?"

"Pneumonia." A pause, a very Nathan Jackson pause. "Reckon."

"That's serious ain't it?"

"Enough. Wasn't expectin' it. Damn ... wasn't expectin' it." Mr Jackson sounded full of self-reproach and Ezra didn't care for that. "Hell, lyin' in the cold with broken ribs for a night. He musta bin cookin' this for weeks. Shoulda thought."

"An' if you had, what would you have done different?"

"Kept him corralled."

"Oh, and you think you'd'a managed that? Jesus, Nathan, Ezra's been galloping about on two busted legs for the last week or more. None of us coulda kept him still. For all he likes his bed, Ezra sure doesn't like lyin' down."

Ezra lifted a hand, felt it wave through the air, crash back on the blankets again. One of the voices instantly came nearer.

"Hey, you wakin' up? How're you doing, Ezra? How's the chest?"

Ezra lifted his hand again, plucked at whatever was wrapped around him.

"Leave it alone, it's for your own good." That was Chris, voice brooking no dissent. "It's ... hell, Nathan, what is it?"

Nathan Jackson's voice had retreated to the other side of the field again. "Should ease his lungs."

"Shit, don't know about that, smells like ya varnished 'im"

Ezra took a huge breath of protest at that point, felt it seize around his ribcage, felt pain between his eyes and digging sharp, brutal, into his side. Heard himself rattle, too, felt noxious fumes swirl around his face.

"More pillows." The voice was less distinct now, closer but fainter. "He's too flat."

Oh dear Lord but it hurt when they moved him.

It occurred to Ezra that he was really sick this time. Not because he was starting to doubt he'd be able to stand it. Not even because he couldn't seem to get enough breath to make anything bearable. No, it was because someone bent down close to his ear and said,

"You want us to wire your Ma now, Ezra? Is it time?"

And he had the feeling that maybe it was.


	3. Chapter 3

(3)

Vin wasn't impressed.

He'd left Ezra sleeping peaceful and pretty under the watchful gaze of Buck and JD, and came back three hours later to find him dangerously ill.

That wasn't the hell supposed to happen.

"Damnit, Nathan, what? What's gone wrong?" He barreled into the sickroom without knocking, found Jackson unwrapping sodden gauze from Ezra's chest. The bones stood out in sharp relief under the lamplight. Vin knew the heady smell in the room was camphor. "How's he gotten so sick?"

"Hush. Don't need you yellin' in here, Vin."

"Nathan ... how'd this happen?"

"Ain't such a surprise. Busted ribs can do this."

Vin stalked to the bed, swept off his hat. "Fuck, Ezra!"

Ezra, who seemed to have been staring, mesmerized, at the drape, switched his gaze, looked right at him.

"Hey now." Nathan was angry. "You just calm down. He needs quiet, not your gutter mouth, Vin Tanner."

Vin swung away again, stomped into the corner of the room, watched Nathan's oiled fingertips touching down on the slick skin over Ezra's broken ribs.

"Gonna try this one more time," Nathan soothed. "Then we'd better think about coolin' you down instead of heatin' you up."

"Give me somethin' to do." Vin paced the far side of the room, hat in hands. Ezra's eyes had followed him at first but he seemed too tired for that now and was back to concentrating on the fluttering drape instead, while his lungs heaved and stretched in a shallow, scratchy rhythm.

"You can give us some quiet by leavin'."

"Nathan, I ain't leavin'. Give me somethin' to do."

Nathan's nostrils flared. He was used to loved ones demanding that their presence alone was beneficial to invalids. He was used to the rest of the seven poking their noses in and out when one of their number was sick or wounded. He wasn't used to this proprietary fervor.

"I really think you should go."

Vin dropped his hat, left his corner, came up close. He was rigid with anger, his eyes sparked and he didn't look friendly at all.

"Now you listen to me." Nathan had rarely heard Vin's voice grate with such suppressed emotion. "I don't care what you think, Nathan, what you think this is. And I don't care whether you think it's right, wrong or just plain evil. I'm stayin' here with him, and you can't stop me."

"No, I can't stop you. Can see you'll damn well flatten me if I try. And I don't know what I think. Fact is, Ezra's sick as he can be and I don't need anyone interferin', whoever they are."

Vin stood his ground. His eyes had not stopped sparking. "He can't be left he's that sick, and you're nearly out on your feet. So let me help. I can help."

"You reckon you care so damn much?"

"Reckon I do."

"And Ezra?"

Vin shrugged.

Nathan shook his head. "Shit," he said. "You're not tellin' me he don't even know?"

"We ain't had that talk."

"And maybe now you won't get the chance."

"Oh for cryin' out loud, Nathan, that's why I'm askin' you."

"Shit," said Nathan once again, studying his hands and then the floor. "I think maybe you're outa your mind. Stay then. I'll give you things to do. You ain't gonna like them much."

"Not 'spectin' to," Vin said through his teeth.

Nathan was cool, trenchant even. "Need to get the fever down. Need to clear his lungs. And those two things ain't goin' to sit well."

Vin slipped out of his jacket, threw it down on the easy chair in the corner. "I'm ready."

\-----

Now, custom dictated that a woman was needed in the sickroom if Nathan wasn't there. A woman, gentle and caring. Nathan could have called on Mary Travis. She had a soft spot for Ezra, for all of them. Or Inez, supposing he could find her, even though Inez was a little loud and flouncy for the current situation. Or a helpful soul from Josiah's congregation who'd volunteer because they were good and Christian.

Fact was, Nathan and the rest already knew Vin Tanner was an asset by the sickbed. Man had a fiercely tender way about him. Was good enough with horses and sick dogs, wouldn't tolerate seeing pain without laying on his hands. Stood to reason he'd be the same way with his fellow man.

But, Vin? Because ... _Vin and Ezra?_

Shit.

Nathan was exhausted and he needed help. He was troubled with a sense of inadequacy, could hardly think straight. He shoved his misgivings aside, opted to get some sleep and left Vin and the others to it.

JD had holed himself up somewhere, miserable. In the saloon, Josiah and Chris were wedged side by side at the bar. Buck stood with them for a while, pointed out that pouring whisky down their throats was a dang beef-headed thing to do in the circumstances, but just got growled at, so he left. He didn't feel like his usual comforts would in any way be sufficient. So he made coffee, strong and black, and took it on up to Nathan's. He didn't know exactly what else to do.

Vin barely looked up from what he was doing when the door opened. Buck's eyes were about on stalks when he got inside and saw what was going on. The troubling scents and sounds up there weren't about to persuade him to stay, either. Whatever had been ground and boiled up was strong and spicy enough to make Buck's eyes smart. The rattle of Ezra's congested breathing made him feel nauseous. Despite all that, he laid the coffee down on a table and took his hat off.

There was a half-empty tea-cup on the nightstand by the bed. Buck removed it, took a sniff and recoiled.

"You ain't tellin' me he just drank that?"

"Might help the fever Nathan said. Need to brew it up again. Think maybe there should be more honey in it though." Vin sounded a little distracted. "Too many of them seeds, maybe. Not enough honey."

"Sure it was perfect, hoss. See, brung ya some hot coffee here. Figured you might need it."

"Might."

Buck sat down quietly on the stool by the bed.

"Damn," he said after a while.

Vin was perched across from him, supporting Ezra over the side, gripping him in place with one arm under his upper chest. Buck could see Vin's muscles were tense in the effort to keep the patient from sliding face first on to the floor. His other hand was curled, tapping in little circles - _tap, tap, tap_ \- between Ezra's shoulder-blades.

Being watched didn't seem to bother him none. He spoke quietly. "When this works, Bucklin ...well, had one go a' this already and it ain't a pretty sight. Ain't easy on him, an' he ain't exactly gonna want an audience."

Buck leaned forward slightly, took a pensive look in the basin on the floor.

"Holy mother of ..." Buck rubbed his own chest gingerly with his fingertips. "Hell, Ezra, you poor bastard."

Vin looked over at him, made a face. "'bout right."

_Tap, tap, tap._

Vin's voice turned cajoling. "Come on, Ezra. Cough it up."

Buck had been pretty sure Ezra was out of it. Pretty sure he wasn't in the least aware he was staring at the floorboards while Vin Tanner drummed insistently on his spine. It gave Buck a heck of a start when Ezra dug his elbow sharply into Vin's thigh, nearly made Vin let go of him altogether. Buck figured he knew what was coming. He jumped to his feet, snatched up the cooling kettle and stumbled out of the door with a crash. Couldn't quite shut his ears to the deeply disturbing sounds behind him. Slammed the door, pattered down the steps and sat at the bottom for a while, shaken. Then, annoyed with himself, Buck went in search of boiling water.

When it all seemed quiet again, Buck sidled back in, kettle full and steaming. Ezra was right side up, slumped against a steep bank of pillows. His eyes were not quite open and his face was one hell of a nasty color.

"How's he doin'?"

Vin, still on the side of the bed, heaved his shoulders. "In the name of God, Buck ... spittin' up blood and ... god knows what all else. He's hot as hellfire, too, hotter all the goddamn time. Don't know, Buck. Can't stand it. Can't stand to lose him." He didn't look up. "Not 'fore we've even gotten started."

Buck stood where he was, swinging the heavy kettle gently from side to side.

He didn't know the whys and wherefores but, being Buck, he'd been reading the signs for some time now without bothering to interpret. And he knew Vin Tanner. Ezra too. Damn them. Damn both of them. They'd had his life in their hands more than once, would do again, and Buck trusted them to the ends of the earth with it.

"Hell, Vin." He laid the kettle down, moved into the other side of the bed. It hurt his heart to see Vin so despairing, Ezra so very sick. "I can't say. Just you ..." He put a tentative hand down on Ezra's burning head. "Just you keep taking care of him. Don't know what else."

\-----

Not even Vin could stay awake round the clock, though God knows he tried.

By day Ezra would know they were there, sometimes even cooperated. Recognized all of them when they came, assured them he'd be better soon if they'd just stop bothering him. As evening approached he'd start to fall away, get confused and fractious. The nightly delirium was hectic, revealed demons so frightful it needed two of them at the bedside.

JD couldn't take that. It was too close to the bone. He apologized over and over, to Chris, to Nathan.

"It ain't easy," was all Chris said.

"Don't need to feel bad," Nathan told him.

"Well I'm sorry for it. He's my friend too. I'm just sorry for it all, Vin."

JD didn't even know why he was apologizing to Vin. Just got the feeling Vin had some kind of stake in all this that he didn't yet appreciate.

"Am I the last to know?" he heard Josiah ask.

_Hell. Last to know what?_

"He can't hang on much longer." Nathan had gone from pessimistic to pretty much defeated in under a week. "Heart'll give out. Don't think Miz Standish'll get here in time, iffen she even got the wire."

They'd heard nothing from St Louis. Ezra hadn't asked.

Nearly everything Nathan said made Vin mad.

"His damn heart will not give out."

"Body can't take it."

"Ezra's heart will not damn well give out. We'll get the fever down. Just need to try harder."

"Tried everything, Vin. Everything I know, everything anyone knows."

"We'll try again."

Ezra didn't recall very much. Just that it had been hard, almost too hard. The slap of cool water in a tin bath. The tap tap tap of a familiar hand.

And a voice, unamused.

"Damn you, Ezra. I don't think this is funny. God damn you for this."

_Mr Tannah. You have a way about you that I really like, so very much._

He remembered the slide of a cool palm against his own. He knew that someone pressed a kiss on his temple, another on his lips.

He knew someone had held him like he'd never been held.

Someone.

\-----

"Ezra?"

"Hmm?"

"Somethin' I gotta tell ya."

Afternoon sun on the boardwalk outside the jail. Only two chairs, arranged opposite one another with the footstool between. Just one leg was resting, the other was firmly on the floor, bent with a deck of cards on the knee. The rocker creaked slightly as its owner sent it into motion.

"Ah know."

Vin bristled in spite of himself, leaned forward and jabbed with one finger. "What do you know?"

"Ah know what you've got to tell me."

"You don't know."

"Mr Tanner, ah do. You can tell me if you want, but ah already know."

Vin slumped back in his seat. Ezra sounded so calm, so matter-of-fact. The bastard. The goddamn too-clever-for-his-own-good bastard. "And?"

Ezra's eyes blinked open. He seemed to take a while to focus. Vin hated that everything was still such a struggle. "And it seems that we are of like mind."

"We are of ... ? What? What in hell does that mean?"

"Means you can stop fretting. Means I think of you too. Means we are both insane."

Vin thought the world tilted. He felt everything he'd ever known and believed in slide away out of his grasp and drop over an edge. An intense joy bloomed in his chest. It felt like freedom. Freedom, and terrible danger. He wouldn't have to explain any of this to Ezra, not with words anyhow. Made him more sure than ever that his gut feeling, which had been scaring the hell out of him, was right on the money this time.

"All right then."

_This is crazy. This is going to drive us both crazy. Might get us both killed._

"But ... Ezra ..."

"Hmm?"

"Means you really gotta get better. I can't stand it otherwise. You gotta really try, for my sake, cause I don't think I could ..."

"Believe me, I also would prefer the tragedy to come after the romance and not the other way round."

Vin snorted a laugh. "I do believe you."

They smiled at one another a long moment, like it was the biggest joke in the world, Ezra with his head tilted back against the rocker, Vin just with his eyes.

Then Ezra sighed. "The _tricoteuses_ will be returning shortly. Mr Larabee makes an admirable Madame Defarge, don't you think?"

"You know, I have no idea what you're talkin' about. I hardly ever have any idea what you're talkin' about. How's this gonna work?"

"It'll work." Ezra might have smirked slightly before his eyes drooped shut again.

Vin's joy was replaced instantly by fear. Too many relapses. Too serious an illness.

"Damnit, Ezra." Vin sat forward, shifted his chair with his butt so it moved across the boards, pitched up right next to the rocker, close enough that their knees touched. Ezra's eyes popped open again.

"Damnit, Vin," he said.

And his weary eyes gleamed with the kind of cantankerous mischief that Vin knew was going to drive him to distraction and beyond in no time at all.

_Damnit, Ezra._

Helluva way to start something this big.

-ends-


End file.
